


You've got sucker's luck, have you given up?

by fvartoxin



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Holy Musical B@man - Team StarKid
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe of an Alternate Universe, Gen, I think about you a lot and I hope you know how much you meant to me!, I wrote the vast majority of this in a crazed flurry back in July, Me @ me: stop crying about Nora Fries, Other, Sad boys being sad boys, Shout-out to my 8th grade Geography teacher for slightly inspiring my portrayal of Mr. Freeze, UPDATE: deleted the RPF tag because I was formerly unaware of what that meant, a friend just told me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:07:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21767338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fvartoxin/pseuds/fvartoxin
Summary: [Another continuation of Speaks canon, and another thing crossposted from my d.A. months after I initially posted it.] Sometimes you need to have a metaphorical cup of tea with your father figure; if only because literal tea would kill him unless iced.
Relationships: Clayface & Mr. Freeze, Sweet Tooth & Mr. Freeze
Kudos: 1





	You've got sucker's luck, have you given up?

**Author's Note:**

> ...Gee, "Diatribe of Agony" really does sound like something RNGed by a drunk monkey. So that previous title's been changed up a bit; although in my files it's still titled that.

Silas Torrance was no fool. _Probably_. These days, he couldn't be quite sure of anything. Undoubtedly, the thoughts he'd recently been entertaining about just letting the staff of Arkham Asylum have at him, for once and for all, could be picked up on easily enough. Subtlety had never been the strong suit of the Rogues Gallery's former leader, and he bore the weight of this realization with a grudging countenance. "- So. Am I legally allowed to say that I'm all _right_ now?" Once, that smile had dazzled. 

"No. The right side of your face is gone. The joke deflates completely. If you had not made an attempt, things would have turned out far better." Though his default mode of expression was arguably more neutral than much else, there was a constant weight to it that spoke of decades of weariness; _if_ you scrutinized, and only if. "Second, you are most certainly not in stable condition to begin with. You are bleeding again, yet the chill reduces the flow to a mere trickle. The reasoning as to why you adamantly refuse to let your injury heal does not escape me. You will not find retribution in such an act." Jaw clenched, Dr. Victor Fries withdrew his outstretched arm from the table top at a pace not unlike that of a snail slathered in glue. "I will try. You _know_ I will try. Yet I do not believe I can entirely help you, given that you refuse to listen to either myself or Karlo." _Screeeeeeeeech_. As soon as the chair he'd been stiffly sitting in had been pushed back, he was on his feet, rifling through cabinets. 

A scowl flickered across his ruined features before they smoothed once more. "Alternatively, Vic, you could have said _stab_ le condition. I wouldn't have noticed, ha. And I never said anything about retribution; I make decisions that tend to blow up in my face like a nuclear _Warhead_ , but I'm not naïve enough to think I'm digging anything but my own grave." He'd said that before, and he'd say it until the breath had been driven from his scorched lungs. The packet of corresponding candy that he'd dropped remained on the floor. "I suppose I don't really need advice at this point. Just..." Silas gave himself a once-over before shrugging, shoulders falling almost as quickly as they had risen. "I don't know. I genuinely have no clue what I'm doing anymore; I'll admit that to you and you only. Also," he interjected as his head twisted from side to side, taking in the contents of the basement laboratory, "where _is_ Basil, anyway? I thought he was currently living with you." 

"Despite your own thoughts on the matter, the comment would have been in poor taste." It was only when he found the rudimentary first-aid kit that he turned to lock eyes with the brightly-colored man. The thermal goggles remained nestled firmly in the shock of ivory hair atop his head. "You do not express guilt, nor regret, in a healthy manner. Even _we_ share a commonality or two, Torrance; although, I would not be so bold as to openly threaten the lives of others. As for my dearest friend, he is currently out. I requested he depart for the time being. You two would only be at each other's throats otherwise, as much as Karlo means well. He has always been...abrasive to a degree, or at least for as long as I have known him, but there is a heart underneath all which he is comprised of. Metaphorically." 

If he had to liken the glow of Victor's peculiar eyes to something, well...it reminded him of the colored liquids in beakers which littered stereotypical science labs on television (Jonathan might get a kick out of that. Pamela too, perhaps). Intense in their lighter blue hue, far too vibrant for anyone's liking, and painfully false-looking. He shifted his weight in the other chair, and in response the thing let out a pitiful _creak_. "Except Jonathan." Still, his former boyfriend's name alone only deepened the uncomfortable gnawing at his soul. Infinitely more so in terms of Emily, but for now he'd shove that aside for the sake of not breaking down mid-conversation. "Arguably, I've no dignity _left_ considering I'm having a mid-life crisis at 37 - which may as well be close to the end of my life given how few non-metahuman Gothamites seem to live past 40 - but 'poor taste' is a set of words that's always described me. Basil and I didn't part on stellar terms when we last came into contact. I'm not sorry for my actions, but, tell him I appreciated the suture job when you next see him. What a shame that it didn't last long." 

"...Apart from Dr. Crane, yes. I trust you are plenty aware that we would all end up dead should the situation arise, no?" The thought had never been a pleasurable one, and not only because he'd die without ever hearing Nora call his name once more in such a scenario. "I am not a member of any messenger service, but for your sake I will indulge such a request." He produced a sterile needle, swabs, and thread, and set what remained of the first-aid kit on a nearby counter. "Remove your suit jacket and your undershirt. I shall make this quick." The gloves he near-constantly wore would delay the burning, but for the most part his body was essentially unprotected. 

"He calls you _that_ a few too many times, you justifiably snap, _I_ justifiably snap out of a mixture of rage and grief, and then we end up killing each other. Only, beyond Jon dying first I'm not certain of exact order. You wouldn't want to use your guns or grenades against me unless things came down to the wire, and as much as I wouldn't publicly admit it I'm always going to be more than a little hesitant to off someone who I consider a surrogate father. I'd _Take 5_ , consider my options...but, you don't need to hear my theorizing any further. Too unpleasant," he muttered, waving a hand in the air before he stood and began to shuck the necessary articles of clothing; draping them over the back of his chair for the time being. 

Victor hovered, as he was wont to do. "Correct. The thought alone concerns me, never mind the potential reality of the situation." There was a stretch of near silence as he began to get to work, underscored only by the ever-present humming of various machinery. "If it is alright, I would rather you completely cease talking about such things in my presence from this point onward. I will never maintain ill will towards you, but I trust that you understand my reasoning." 

To his credit, he tried not to shiver as he was poked and prodded (albeit, as gently as possible). His choice of everyday clothing tended not to be insulating in the first place, and the scientist's frozen fingers, coupled with the effects of the room's average temperature on a patchwork of now hypersensitive bare skin, were only adding a kind of insult to literal injury. Still, none of this was Victor's fault. "Duly noted. I'll try my best to stick to that." Thus, Silas didn't complain, and instead chose to focus his attention on the occupied cryochamber positioned in the corner closest to them. "You could have been an engineer, Vic. Did you ever think about that? Just out of curiosity; I don't think I've ever asked you before." 

"There is no doubt in my mind that I could have pursued such a career had I wished. Cryogenics served me better," there was the most barely perceptible of pauses, "as dubiously ethical as the entire process is." Who in the Rogues Gallery _hadn't_ tampered with the concept of ethics and crossed moral boundaries at some point? A few of the more lesser-known Rogues, maybe. Even then, the amount of names on that list, no matter how thin exact definitions were stretched, were quite low. He hummed softly to himself as he worked; some wordless tune with an unclear melody. "I am no surgeon, but you stabbed yourself in the liver from an awkward angle. With little real medical attention since the day Karlo dragged you to the hospital, one wonders how you are still living." 

"You're damn good at both, though you've already heard my praises, what, hundreds of times?" Silas pursed his lips, suppressing a chuckle. "Let me know when 96 Fahrenheit becomes too much for you. _I mean that_. Don't be prideful. Bas needs you to stay healthy, you two are practically Statler and Waldorf in real life," he quipped with a roll of his eye. "With minor differences. Also, human bodies are astoundingly resilient. The _Pulse_ of life is so fragile," at least the bright green hard candy packet wasn't dropped on the ground like everything else typically was. Best not to distract someone doing such delicate work. "And yet, people have bounced right back from things such as being mauled by a bear. Naturally, other people have died from all manner of ridiculous things such as tripping over a child's toy that was left in the middle of the living room or leaving a dull pencil in the wrong pocket at the wrong time. I guess there's got to be _something_ to balance that out." His voice momentarily dropped to a murmur. "Maybe part of me is just scared of having unfinished business. Oh, and the angle at which I struck undoubtedly played a part. There's always going to be cleaner ways to do that. The poor carpet won't ever be the same."

"The fact that I am more hospitable than them both is more of a major difference, would you not say so. I shall indeed let you know if I feel discomfort at any point," the lie passed through his lips with ease. "Ordinary human beings continue to amaze me, in varying ways. Despite the occasional instance of fragility, overall we as a species are durable." Purple-gloved hands withdrew, if only for a sparse few minutes. Victor, too, spared a glance towards his eternally slumbering wife. "Although, not as durable as would be ideal. Regrettably, an essential component of mortality is the unmentioned knowledge that you shall leave this mortal coil with words left unspoken, tasks left undone. The alternative is far worse. I would easily trade a thousand of my frozen years for one more day." Seconds seemed to turn into hours, but he painstakingly tore his gaze from the cryochamber and returned to the task at hand. 

"I would, come to think of it. Somehow, none of those points you offered make me any less wary." That was the end of that line of discussion, he sensed. "Given the amount of time you've spent barely sleeping over all of this, and the few attempts you've made to reach out to influencers, she'll be in your arms again. Someone will find a cure that doesn't involve, like, dark magic or something equally asinine-sounding. Medicine's advanced greatly within the last 20 years." 

"Spoken exactly like a man who knows that what he is saying is falsified. _You_ are the mathematician. You know that the odds have been stacked against both myself and Nora for a very long time. While I do not intend to relent as long as there is breath in my body, there are times when even I get discouraged. Exhausted. It has been," he mused, mouthing numbers in sequence under his breath, "nearly six decades, if memory serves."

"Don't count out the 1%, especially in Gotham City. Everything seems to be turned on its head here," he observed, smacking his lips out of force of habit. "If you're forcing me to be positive, then I've no choice but to force _you_ to be positive. Payback, in a way. And, on that note, I find it sad yet predictable that none of the remaining Gallery could hold such personal connections for more than a handful of years, if they were lucky." His breath hitched, and he swallowed back a shuddering groan as a flash of memory interrupted his speech. "Myself included. Everything went by too quickly for my taste, towards the end. But I suppose dysfunctionality consistently breeds the same."

There was another lull in the action, stalled by Victor's having finished stitching. "Have you ever considered that you have a differing relationship with the idea of masculinity," he offered in as flat a tone as ever as he tucked the remaining thread away, then crossed the room to properly dispose of the used material. 

"I have _what_ now?" In quick succession, his eyelid fluttered. "Coming from you, I trust that's not a jibe about my sexuality, but that was a little out of left field all the same." Slowly, he reached for his undershirt. "Thank you, by the way. You didn't have to do this." 

"Wording issues, as to be expected," he confirmed, and his statuesque frame lingered near the table as Silas re-dressed. "Do not pay that any mind, and instead think for a moment. It will be painful, but choose to reflect." 

"If you're talking about the fact that, when with men, I don't throw around the words 'I love you' with reckless abandon like some do, well... _Look_ , Vic, I dated the psychologist here. He unearthed the gritty details of my life enough." Silas paused to let the red and white package of nougat and chocolate he'd named drop to the floor, then resumed fumbling with the buttons on his clothing. "I suppose it's only fair to let you pry, given how much we already know about one another." 

"That is exactly my point," he replied blankly, too-blue eyes narrowed to slits. 

"I have in no way denied that I form unhealthy attachments to others and then proceed to ruin all the positive things which happen to me out of some kind of fear that I don't feel like exploring deeply. Don't get me wrong. We all have our life-ending flaws," he said and raised his hands in a momentary show of assumed self-defense. There was a remarkable casualty to that statement. 

"You could easily converse." With Emily, that would be far more difficult. Especially considering that she was likely deceased. No Gothamite went completely off the proverbial grid for that long, unless something had happened to them. 

"I seem to recall you mentioning that Nora once said that communication's a two-way street," he fired back, though the malice was gone from his tone and the fire had died in his eye. 

He nodded. "The lesson has never escaped me. My beloved consistently dispensed wise advice. While once again she is correct, substantial effort is required for many things in life. I learned long ago that avoiding a problem will not make it disappear. You puzzle me, Torrance. You are so deeply lonely and seeking reassurance, and yet you drive others away when something beneficial starts to happen. You truly loved him. And you truly loved _her_. I have no doubt your interest in that other man could have even blossomed, had circumstances not been as they were. I do not process feelings as most do, but believe me, I am well aware what such an emotion looks like reflected in the eyes of another. Or, in your case, _eye_." He sat on the countertop then, folding his gloved hands on his lap. "I have a sole question for you. _Why_."

"If I could figure out how to tell you, Vic, trust me. I would." At that, he slumped in the chair that Victor had previously been taking up residence in, head bowed. "Hmm. It's not something I should ponder in detail, not here of all places, but just how many members of the Gallery did I at least _consider_ , well, doing you-know-what with at some point in my life? Ridiculous. I'm never quite sure if I regret the brief Oswald thing, but I apologize where I can. Even if he isn't around to hear it." 

"That is a question I will never be able to answer, although I suspect it was rhetorical in origin to begin with." Not as though the man who fainted at graphic discussion of sexual activities, balked at the mere thought of pleasuring himself while his wife was in stasis, and considered anything of the sort to be a form of disloyalty against said wife necessarily wanted to know the answer to that in the first place. "There is little point in your wondering. You cannot alter the past. If it could be altered, I am sure that my treasured wife would be healthy and I would have likely never met any of the Gallery. I have regret over that, this is true, but I do not view the memory of encountering you for the first time as negative. Nor Karlo, close as he is to me." Were he still an ordinary man, he would have reached out, placed a comforting hand on the other's shoulder. But he was not, and so he did not. 

He didn't turn to look at him. "It _was_ rhetorical, yes. And, I know. Daydreaming isn't a thing which can be helped sometimes. Still, that's hardly an excuse," he said, and then took the chance to quiet and welcome the dull roar of machinery. 

"I do not fault you for your thoughts. I am simply concerned, that is all. This is normal when in regards to you, after all this time." He'd tend to whatever injuries that touching a warm body had dealt to him later on; for now, he had greater issues to deal with. "...While I cannot say you are the son my Nora ever hoped for, I think she would enjoy your overall presence. That is what I love about her, among other things. No matter the circumstance, she found redeemable qualities in nearly everyone." 

"Family is family, no matter where it's found. Somehow, I doubt she'd approve if she learned what kind of things I've done," he chuckled darkly, "but that's comforting, all the same. It isn't as if other Rogues haven't committed worse crimes against humanity. Compared to a couple individuals, I'm downright tame. Dubiously functional, but tame nonetheless." A maniacal grin suddenly lit up his face. "In this case, a family can be defined as a surprisingly fragile semi-immortal, his wife of some 70 or so years, and _hundreds and thousands of adoptive children_. Congratulations, you've well surpassed 'ol Batsy!" 

"I am not faulting you for the incredibly low-effort pun, either. However, at this point in my life I will gladly agree." Gotham's Rogues were certainly an odd group, but he wouldn't trade the experiences he'd had over the past several decades for anything. Even when everyone he had known crumbled to dust, he would tell their stories to anyone with a listening ear. "You are welcome to remain here for longer. I suspect Karlo has occupied himself with terrorizing citizens, or is attempting to seduce some man at this very moment. I do not wish to prematurely end his enjoyment of the freedom from Arkham that he has attained." 

"A fair amount of the Gallery knows he's into you only, Vic, even if he isn't blatant about it; he calls everyone 'dear' sporadically to mix things up, after all, but nothing else seems to quite have heart behind it. _Color me surprised_." Silas pointedly glanced back at the stairway leading to the ground floor of the house. "The resident 'shippers on deck' just weren't vocal out of respect for you, all these years." 

"In another life, perhaps things could have been different. I have never explored my potential attraction to individuals other than Nora, and I will not be choosing to. Not here, and not now. _The nature of my preferences shall be a question for the historians to mull over for all time_. While it can easily be said that there is something more than mere friendship between us two, nothing shall progress further." Getting to his feet again, he snapped up the first-aid kit and meandered in to the half-bathroom. 

"I expected nothing less. Given the whole 'disbanded Gallery' thing, I haven't heard from most of the former members in quite some time. What do you think half of that crowd did with themselves, anyhow? There's no Bat now, for sure. No Superman. Even the Justice League's gone radio silent."

"You cannot be aware of that for certain. If I may draw this to your attention again, Wayne has made a brief appearance. Several months ago, yes, yet he still showed his face." It wasn't _nothing_ , at least. He came out of the room as quickly as he had entered, and returned to sitting on the counter. "Although, given his displayed behavior, the idea of his finally retiring from vigilantism to focus on raising his son would not be far-fetched." 

"Ahh yes, the boy." The corners of his lips curled downward into a displeased grimace at the thought of Robin. "No, I'd have to admit that wouldn't be a _Shocker_. Not surprising that he hasn't officially announced anything either, though you'd think that someone would have stepped up to seize the mantle by now. Unless they've all stopped caring about what happens to this city. If so, then that's a marked improvement." Though it held little of the purely chaotic energy as it had in years previous, he emitted a short burst of laughter. "He hurt more people than he ever helped, what with his habit of going for tibias. And the whole 'generally being a child in a grown man's body' thing, of course-" 

"This is the point where Karlo would question your taste in men." 

"I'd be amazed if he hadn't back when I was, you know, dating a man that got off to the abstract concept of fear. And also, you know, _I fully enjoyed Jon's effectively torturing me_ and wasn't exactly an innocent in that situation. I feel like that's a thing worth mentioning." He let out a heavy sigh. "I suppose Basil's more in a place to judge others than most of us former Rogues are, hmm?" 

"He certainly judged you both. However, he has tact, and, in his own words, 'anything is hard to come by when you're on our side of the equation'. I do not entirely wish to express agreement with that." Far be it from him to clearly express distaste, though the way he squinted at the young man sent enough of a message. 

"Understandable." And so, he let that be.


End file.
